


Like Caged Tigers

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Purring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:31:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you just purr?" Laura asks, and the drop of incredulity in her voice plummets through Carmilla like a stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Caged Tigers

So let's set the stage, shall we? A girl's gotta create her own sense of drama, blah, blah, blah, something about cookies and hot chocolate.

Carmilla is on Laura's bed, because that's where she usually ends up these days (always, it's been where she's tried to end up) and there's a trail of crap leading the short distance from the door to the bed. A belt, its oversized buckle glinting under the overhead light they'd (recklessly? thankfully?) slapped on when they'd entered the room, Carmilla's palm clapping against the wall as much to flood the space with light as to hold onto her balance when Laura had jumped on her, lips hungrily seeking Carmilla's. Laura's shoes, hastily toed off, one haphazardly on its side in the middle of the room, the other knocked against the foot of her bed. And Laura's jacket, draped across the edge of the bed, it's cuff brushing against the heel of her shoe in discarded solidarity, because Carmilla had been pushing at Laura's clothing since the first sear of her kiss.

It had been the kind of afternoon that could only have ended like this, brimming with wordless promise, sly glances and knees bumping under tables and overloaded choices in words. And an agonizing walk home, longing simmering in the pit of Carmilla's belly. She'd wanted to pull Laura around a corner, press her against a wall and finger her through her jeans, but known Laura would balk at that, in the middle of the afternoon, people everywhere, the dreary overcast sky spitting a drizzle that was more of a chilly annoyance than inflicting any true misery. But still.Laura would have just insisted that they were less than half a block away; desire would have continued to gnaw at Carmilla either way.

So when the door to their room clicked shut they'd been on each other, as explosive, as definitive, as the gunshot that marks the start of a race. All fumbling hands and frenzied lips, that had brought them to their knees, on Laura's bed, wrapped in each other's arms and pressed together from shoulder to hip. Carmilla's fingers scramble towards the hem of Laura's shirt where it rides up against her stomach. Laura leans back, just enough space to wedge her arms between them and start unfastening Carmilla's lace edged black and pink blouse, kissing Carmilla fiercely between every button. Carmilla's shirt falls open, and Laura pushes it off of her shoulders; Carmilla worms her hands underneath Laura's shirt and strips it over her head. They surge towards one another again, skin meeting skin. 

Laura's bra is plain, like all of hers are. Utilitarian, safe, seamless navy blue satin. It's the kind of bra that a girl buys when she's never put much thought into lingerie, when her first trips to the ladies section of the mall had been holding the hand of her red-faced father, who'd tracked down the first salesperson he could find and mumbled something about his daughter needing extra support. Laura had never had a mother who could teach her that this stuff could be fun. Carmilla wonders if she'd care even she'd had that _._ Laura isn't fussy about clothes. She likes things simple, unfettered, and Carmilla thinks it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

Carmilla doesn't wear a bra. She'd never gotten into the habit, and she'd never really seen the need. The bare skin of her breasts press against Laura, and cool air tickles her shoulder blades, as she and Laura kiss, tongues sweeping into each other's mouths, strangled whimpers echoing as things steadily climb more heated. Carmilla nips at Laura's full lower lip, and Laura sighs, like a soft and tiny squeak, and Carmilla's eyes slit open to peer into her face. 

Laura is staring back at Carmilla, her eyes half lidded, her cheeks and mouth flushed. Carmilla can pick out flecks of gold in the brown of Laura's eyes this close up, honey singed and gilded. Laura is so, so beautiful, and Carmilla wants to kiss her again, would kiss her again, but for the quirk in Laura's expression, lust-ridden to playful, before she pushes Carmilla onto her back and pounces on her, kisses the hinge of Carmilla's jaw and cups one of Carmilla's breasts. Her thumb skates over the hard point of Carmilla's nipple, and Carmilla gasps and arches her back. Laura's lips move against Carmilla's skin (a smile, Carmilla thinks) and she starts kissing a line down Carmilla's throat.

Carmilla sighs, completely content, and surrenders herself to the feel of Laura's touch. She's so at ease she could melt into the mattress. She so excited to be at the mercy of Laura's ministrations that she could jump out of her skin. She feels it before she hears it: the warm, muffled vibration in her chest, spreading out to her fingertips from somewhere in the cavern of her larynx. The sound reverberates a moment later: a deep, rumbling purr.

Laura lifts her head right away, startled. "Was that--? Did you just--?"

"Hm?" Carmilla is more than halfway to checked out bliss. Laura speaking has the muddled fog shrouding her brain to cut through first, but as soon as they do, she sucks in a sharp intake of breath and sits up. The purrs fade into silence.

"Did you just _purr_?" Laura asks, and the drop of incredulity in her voice plummets through Carmilla like a stone.

"No," she mumbles. "I didn't--"

Laura's eyes widen. "You _did_!" she exclaims. "Oh my god, you really are like a big cat." 

"It's a vampire thing, okay?" Carmilla can feel a blush that has little to do with passion starting to stain her cheeks. She knows it's totally weird. She's used to it, and the people she's been with the last few decades, she hasn't cared enough about what they think of her to really react. But with Laura-- look. She knows it's totally weird, okay? Carmilla forces herself to look at Laura, self-consciousness making her defiant and a little bit sulky.

"Oh man," Laura breathes. "That's pretty cute."

"No it's not," Carmilla retorts. "It's weird. It's totally weird, and you're totally weirded out."

"Hey, hey, shh," Laura says softly. She bends her head low again, and her long sheet of hair curtains them both. "I'm supposed to be the one that babbles, remember? You're supposed to--"

"Stay cool, soda pop," Carmilla interrupts dryly. 

Laura's nose wrinkles when she smiles. "Yeah. Something like that." Laura lowers her head more, closing the scrap of empty space between them, and kisses Carmilla on the lips, gently, and then insistently. Carmilla rushes to meet her kiss. Her spine arches, and her hands run over the smooth skin of Laura's back until they bump against the clasp of her bra. Carmilla unhooks it deftly, and helps Laura wriggle out of her bra and fling it across the room, where it lands unceremoniously on Laura's desk chair. 

Carmilla turns back to kissing. Her arms are full of Laura. They've both managed to sit up, and Laura sits astride Carmilla's lap, her knees digging into the bedspread on either side of Carmilla, her feet tucked up under her thighs. Carmilla presses them close together. Her blunt nails trace the jutting bones of Laura's shoulder blades (wings, she heard somewhere once) as the tip of her tongue traces the contours of Laura's mouth. Laura winds her arms around Carmilla's neck, and they stay like that, kissing, wet sounds interspliced with Laura's pants, until they both topple onto their sides, and Laura stifles a giggle. Her whole face is flushed now, and the pale skin of her upper chest. Carmilla skims her fingers along the curve of Laura's waist. She watches Laura through the shadow of her lashes; eyes over bright, mouth parted prettily. 

Laura is watching Carmilla back, as transfixed as Carmilla is sure she must look right now. Laura blinks, and it erodes her partially glazed expression. She tilts her head to the side, and it gives her an expression that is more quizzical than passionately overwhelmed. 

"You're not purring anymore," Laura comments.

"Oh." Carmilla says lamely. "Yeah. It doesn't always-- it doesn't always happen."

"Are you not happy?" Laura asks. "Cats purr when they're happy." 

"Actually there are a lot of studies that suggest purring isn't explicitly connected with happiness," Carmilla starts, but she trails off when she sees Laura's face fall. She changes tactics quickly. "All of which is crap, I'm sure. Of course I'm happy."

Laura still looks troubled. "I know I'm not--"

Carmilla silences her with another kiss. She doesn't want to hear what Laura was going to say. She doesn't need to. There's no deprecation that Laura could make that would ring true to Carmilla. Carmilla is smitten, by everything Laura does, the way she thinks, the way she moves, the way she smells. Everything else falls away against that. 

Laura returns Carmilla's kiss, and carries none of her uncertainty in the press of her lips. She may look sweet, but Laura has never been shy in the bedroom. She rolls Carmilla onto her back and cages her between the soft prison of her arms. She kisses Carmilla thoroughly, until Carmilla feels her eyes drift shut and her hips buck up into Laura's. Purrs start to rumble through Carmilla again, softly, and then mounting to a heady buzz. Laura lifts her head again and smiles.

"It happens when I'm excited," Carmilla admits.

Laura's smile widens. "Good." She wriggles against Carmilla, and the sound of purring grows. She kisses Carmilla, on the mouth and then edging downwards. Laura nips sharply at Carmilla's collarbone, and Carmilla's answering sigh is the purr that vibrates the air between their skin.

"I can feel you," Laura murmurs. She kisses a slow line along the curve of Carmilla's breast. "You're buzzing." Laura's mouth closes over Carmilla's stiff nipple, and Carmilla lets out a tiny moan. One hand flies to Laura's head and tangles itself in her hair, the other desperately seeks lower, coming to rest on Laura's denim-clad thigh. Carmilla slowly runs her hand up Laura's leg, and feels Laura begin to squirm. She lingers at the juncture of Laura's thighs, but bypasses it in favour of the top button of Laura's jeans, which she flicks open.

Laura comes up from Carmilla's nipple with a wet pop. "Fuck, Carm," she mutters, as Carmilla drags open the teeth of her fly, as she helpfully maneuvers her legs to help Carmilla strip off her jeans. Plain cotton underwear, as sensible as her bra. Carmilla runs one finger between Laura's lips through the fabric, stained dark and damp, and Laura shudders. 

"Yeah, Carm," Laura moans. "Touch me. Touch me right the--" Laura's words fade into a whimper, and she falls against Carmilla again, kissing and writhing. Carmilla's purrs light them both up.

Carmilla twists her body, and clambers on top of Laura. She shucks her ratty cutoffs; leaves her black knee socks on. Laura's spread out beneath her, and her hair is spread out on the pillow, and the small, huffed noises she makes sound like they could be Carmilla's name. Carmilla's hand finds its way between Laura's legs, long fingers stroking her through her underwear, and Laura grows louder, and less coherent, moreso when Carmilla's fingers slip below the waistband of Laura's panties (skin against skin, mingled with hot slick.)

"Carm--" Laura huffs. "That's-- fu--"

Carmilla can feel strong purrs reverberate her whole body now, and she wonders if some of the sensation transfers itself to Laura. She thinks that it might, from the way Laura is clenching at her sheets, half-forming words and squeezing her eyes shut as a light sheen of sweat gathers and glistens at her brow. Carmilla's earlier timidity, self-consciousness and maybe a tiny dab of shame, has been replaced with smug satisfaction. The cat with the canary, as it were. 

Carmilla fingers slide inside Laura, and they fuck, and Laura moans, and Carmilla purrs and purrs and purrs until they collapse against each other, sated, wrung-out, spent, and drift into a late afternoon cat nap. 


End file.
